Between Fading Lights
by Vestina
Summary: He pretends to be innocent, and she pretends she isn't. But, really, who were they fooling? A retelling of parts of The Desolation of Smaug through alternating the POVs of Kili and Tauriel. Their story told in exactly 500 word chapters. A linear drabble collection.
1. One

Her bottom lip is chapped.

It's not something that anyone would even notice. Except possibly another elf. Not that she would ever let one get close enough to actually see the hair-line split. But she rolls her tongue over it, disliking the way it scratches the underside. She gnaws on it gently, inconspicuously, anxiously anticipating the next orders.

Her toes are starting to go numb. She hates going after the spiders because her troops can't hide in the tree line. The maze of webbing makes it impossible to drop down. Instead they blend to the bark, quiet and frozen in a statuesque mold.

She glances toward Legolas whose eyes peer out at the haphazard scene beyond. Barbaric dwarves attempting to ward off mangy spiders. It's complete anarchy.

Legolas' eyebrows scrunch as if he can't decide which he wants dead more.

"Do we have orders, Legolas?" she murmurs to him, letting her voice drift on the breeze and waft toward him.

"Kill the spiders. The dwarves we take as prisoners."

There's a pause, something she's pretty sure is just because Legolas loves show, and then it's a silent explosion of elves and arrows and spider blood.

Her muscles and bones work in seamless synchronization, stretching when she draws her arrow and contracting with the release. It hits the spider with a solid thwack, eliciting a wretched scream that causes it's legs to crumple and it's face to drop to the mud.

To her left, a yelp. She whips her head around, her reddish strands of hair whizzing past her face.

He lies there, in the mud, the dwarf, looking utterly helpless, and she feels a twinge of pity for him. He clearly thinks his death is imminent.

Her arms draw back. Another arrow, another kill. She sends them flying, each resounding muted thuds as they hit the soft flesh.

She glances back toward the dwarf, briefly acknowledging how young he looks. "A dagger!" he shouts at her, eyes crazy and maniacal. Or maybe that's just her prejudice peeking through. "A dagger, quickly! Give me your dagger."

She raises her eyes upward two feet where a rather large and admittedly ugly spider threatens his life. "You think I would give you a weapon, Dwarf?" And ripping the dagger from her belt, she hits the spider in its creepy ass face.

Having more than two eyes is unnatural.

And later, when the last of the spiders have fled, and they're rounding up the dwarves, she, from a distance, watches him.

Realizes she finds him kind of intriguing. His eyes are so full of life.

She doesn't like the pressured prejudice against the dwarves; it's always seemed so irrational and blind. Like they just needed an excuse to despise the other's blood because they were just too different.

She stares at him. He really isn't all that unattractive. Compared to an elf, he's far more rugged. But she likes that. It gives him character.

But she wonders if she's wrong to think these things.


	2. Two

His teeth are gritted when they bind his hands.

He hates the feeling of their skin against his own. Too smooth, to perfect.

It feels so unnatural.

He feels as though he could throw up. The eternal, oppressive Mirkwood fog, he's pretty sure, is making him go crazy.

He still feels sticky from when those freaky-ass spiders slung him up, cocooned in silk. It wasn't that bad actually, once he calmed slightly from the fear of being eaten; the layer of webbing protected him from the mind bending tricks of this damned forest.

He's still a little shaken though, from this skirmish with the spiders. The adrenaline is still ricocheting through his heart. Makes him flinch every time Bombur in front of him steps on a twig, reverberations resounding off the trees.

The elf guard prowling next to him gives an order to move faster, and Kili's patience is done. He turns toward the elven guard.

And spits in the motherfucker's face.

The elf turns to him, malice ignited in his glassy eyes. "You dwarf scum all think you're so entitled to whatever you conquer. But really you are just pathetic. You don't even have a homeland."

Kili snorts, smirking at the pointy-eared sucker. "We're just as entitled entitled to our own kingdom as you are. Not that this," he gestures toward the approaching borders of the Elvish encampment, "is much a kingdom."

"Watch yourself, Dwarf." And this time, it's the female, the one who saved him. "You are a prisoner."

And then she's gone.

And he realizes that she's rather pretty. For an elf.

They enter in through the confines of the gates and into the high-arched caverns of the elven domain, and while it's no Erebor or even Rivendel, it is impressive.

They shove him in a tiny cell, but he's consoled by the fact that his brother is only next door.

The female searches Fili, finding even the dagger in his boot.

Then she passes right over him.

He's not really sure why he does it. Possibly, he finds it amusing to aggravate her. Or maybe he really does find her attractive.

Not that he's going to admit it.

He sort of wants to see if she will blush. Prove that's she's not as perfect as her facade appears.

So he calls out to her.

"Aren't you going to search me? I could have anything hidden in my trousers." He widens his eyes, to make him look pure and innocent. Even though he feels a slight tightening in his pants.

She's rather sexy when she's defensive and angry. It causes her eyes to flare slightly.

"You have nothing."

But she's smiling. A little.

If he uses his imagination.

He watches as she walks away, unable to drag his eyes away from her perfect form.

He knows there can never be anything between them. She's a fucking elf, an entire separate species. And he's damned to this holding cell.

But what he wouldn't do for a little fling.


	3. Three

She hears the laughter and music of celebration. As much as she adores the starlight, her heart feels too heavy to celebrate.

And then realizes that because the atrium is vacant, she can finally talk to the intriguing dwarf prisoner.

She approaches timidly. Resists the urge to look over her shoulder. Hesitates briefly when she reaches the base of the staircase; knowing the unstable nature of dwarves, he'll probably blow up in her face.

Decides it really doesn't matter; this is her only chance.

He's tossing a stone, dark and smooth. Like his hair. Her cheeks twinge red.

And because she's feeling rather self-conscious, and not to mention he hasn't noticed her yet, she says, "That stone, what is it."

He looks up at her with eyes so dark they rival the night. "It's a talisman. A powerful spell lies upon it. If any but a dwarf reads the runes, they will be cursed forever." He thrusts the stone outward, jutting it in her face. She startles backward. Decides this wasn't quite the idea she first thought.

"Or not. Depending on whether or not you believe in that sort of thing." And his voice is oddly desperate. She turns back to him, curious. "My mother," he continues, "gave it to me. As a reminder of my promise."

"What promise?" she asks, and her voice has gone quiet, as if she cares.

He tips his head down, like he's embarrassed. "That I would come back to her." He looks up at her. "She worries about me. Thinks I'm reckless."

"Are you?" Tauriel asks. "Reckless?"

He lets a short laugh out of his nose. Leans against the stone behind him. "Nah." But she has a suspicion he's lying.

His eyes are too brilliant to be innocent.

And as this is occurring to her, the talisman catapults from his hands. And it's only for her lightning reflexes that prevents it from tumbling over the chasm.

He's on his feet quickly, hands grasping at the bars. Ignores his pleading eyes. He clears his throat. "Sounds like quite the party up there."

"It's 'Meleth en Gilith', A Feast of Starlight. All light is sacred to the elves, but the starlight is most precious."

He sinks back down. "I always thought it as a cold light, remote and far away."

She shakes her head. Seems to burst with passion. " No. It is memory. Precious and pure." Opens her hand with the stone in it. "Like your promise."

It's quiet for a moment. She sits on the steps. Looks up when he starts talking. "I saw a fire-moon once. Over the pass near Dunland. It was huge, and red, and seemed to take over the entire sky. We were escorts for some traders, and had taken the Greenway south, mountains to our left. And when night fell, it illuminated our path. It was beautiful."

And it occurs to her that she was wrong to think him completely ignorant. Because he is so far more than that.


	4. Four

He stows the talisman in his breast pocket after she leaves. Right over his heart.

And smirks when he spies the elf prince scowling down from above at him. Knows the son of a bitch with an eternal stick up his ass watched the encounter.

He drifts into a distorted haze of sleep. Flits awake when he hears Thorin's rumbling voice and the sound of jangling keys.

That hobbit is a fucking genius.

And as he's trailing Fili down the corridors, he has to bite his lip to resist the temptation to look over his shoulder. For her.

Inside the barrel, he wonders briefly if Bilbo should apply for an insane asylum.

And then he's tumbling, head and shoulders and feet, an indivisible tangle of limbs.

The water below is frigid, and he's gasping, unable to hear or breathe or think. And when his lungs finally refill with oxygen, he resists the urge to start coughing. Doesn't want to look unheroic.

When Bilbo tumbles out, they let the current take them away.

A part of him hopes all this was only a dream so he can forget the auburn haired elf. She appears in his mind too often. With admittedly too few articles of clothing.

Yes, this needs to be a dream.

But fate decided awhile ago to fuck him senseless.

Because now there are orcs on banks of the river, hissing and cackling. And the elven bows release, arrows zinging through the breeze.

And he only hopes that the elves will be too distracted with these invaders to notice why the orcs are here. He pushes his dark, water-logged hair out of his eyes, trying to maneuver down the treacherous terrain.

And then. The barrels are slowing down, clogging, and Kili realizes the gates ahead are sealed.

He grabs a hold of a vine above head, hoisting himself on top of the bridge. Evades an arrow from an orc who bares his teeth, breath smelling suspiciously like dragon shit. He pulls up on the hatch, letting the gates swing open.

And then feels fire lick though his thigh. Collapses to his knees. Screams because the pain is unbearable. And he's in a daze of it, and he can't think at all. Just wants to fade away into nothingness.

There's an orc in face now, gritty skin against his own, claws digging into his forearm.

And then the orc goes limp. Falls backward. And he meets her gaze, her arms, still poised in the release of her arrow.

And he can't breathe. Can only stare at her. His saving angel. Starlight incarnate.

"Kili!" his brother shouts, and seeing the choice between another orc and falling into a barrel head first, he, impulsively, and maybe a little stupidly, throws himself off and into the gushing river. The arrow in his thigh snaps, a harsh impact against the side of the curved wood.

And he can't forget the look in her eyes. The intense fear. Like she didn't want him to die.


	5. Five

She despises orcs.

Vile creatures whose skin reminds her of fungus, discolored and translucent, as if one could see their bones behind it.

And who violently slaughtered her parents as she cowered under their table, the smooth wood pressed against her neck, their haunting cackles resonating in her ears.

Sometimes, she can still smell the blood.

And when they come tearing through Mirkwood, she grabs the first set of arrows, and sets a pace behind Legolas to destroy them. She wants blood.

And her arms are flying with the release of her bow.

But then.

Slow. Like she's drowning.

He crumples.

And the rage is coursing through her blood. But this time it's less revenge and more desperation, a prayer that barely passes her lips.

And it's all she can do to only kill that motherfucking orc once. She wants to riddle his body with holes, to force all the blood to spill from his body.

And it terrifies her, this bloodlust that she can't control. Because she's a completely rational being.

And this is irrevocably irrational.

His eyes are searching in spite of the pain he must feel from the orc shaft in his thigh.

As if he knows it was her.

And then there's recognition as his eyes lock with hers, and she's pretty sure she's never wanted anything more.

And then he's disappeared, toppled over the side of the drawbridge.

Gone.

She feels empty now, knowing their time is over. It was never enough to be real.

She's drifting. Through the rest of the bloody siege and even after.

She insists on being there for the orc interrogation even though Legolas tells her it's not necessary. That she needs rest.

She doesn't know how Thranduil doesn't rip the mangy beast's ears off. The little fucker won't even give them anything relevant.

Until he mentions the Morgul arrow sticking in the dwarf.

And it comes flashing back. The rage and hatred and just a twinge of fear.

No, especially fear.

He's dying.

And she can't help herself from attacking the orc. That he even mentioned him.

"Tauriel!" Thranduil shouts. "Leave him." And Legolas is pulling her back.

And she knows that she must stop. For him. And she's not sure why. Because it's completely irrational that she would love a dwarf.

But she knows she can't let him die.

And as this tumbles through her mind, she feels an inescapable need to leave, to find him.

And so, what can she do but slip away and let her tracking instincts take over?

She knew Legolas would follow her. She's not surprised when she hears his tread, light, but not nearly as silent as hers.

And she knew he would argue her return home. He's far too much like his father.

But she also knows it wasn't her argument that they are too connected to this war to leave it behind. Because she is coming to realize that what Thranduil said was correct. Perhaps, Legolas is fond of her.


	6. Six

Between the sloshing of the river and the ungodly amount of blood seeping from the wound in his leg, he bites his lip to keep from vomiting over the side of the barrel.

When they break on the craggy bank, he stumbles out of his barrel, collapsing on his back, not caring about the jaggedness of the rock beneath him.

"Fuck, Kili," his brother mutters under his breath, beckoning Dwalin.

"We keep moving!" Thorin announces.

"We can't," Fili protests. "Kili has been shot."

"It's really only a scratch," Kili tries to say.

Thorin's brow creases, an internal war between his loyalty to his race and his love for his nephew raging. "You have two minutes."

And when it's finally bandaged, Kili's grateful he can at least walk. He's not giving up now.

And he's not quite sure what's happening now, why they've stopped after only a few steps, but over Fili's shoulder he catches a glimpse of a tall man, looming over the fjord, bow in hand.

"Try anything, and you're dead."

And even though it's all a bit of a daze to him, somehow, they board his barge.

His brother fiddles with a knife next to him. The waves sloshing against the wooden slats are oddly soothing, but Kili won't let his guard down. Not here, in the presence of a stranger who may have alliances with unknown parties.

And then, out of the boat and back into barrels. (If he ever has to get away in another barrel, he's sure he'd rather die.)

The stench of fish is overwhelming; they ooze disgustingly on his skin, slippery and scaly. He can only barely breathe, each inhale tainted by the smell of vile river grime.

And when they're stopped by the official, he becomes all the more aware of every movement he makes: the itch on his forehead, his labored breathing, the throbbing in his leg.

And somehow, through sewers and toilets (he's starting to think Bard just wants to see how dedicated they are) they're in his house, and rifling though weapons, and plotting to slip away into the night.

But of course they get caught.

Kili is beginning to despise fate.

But then again, Thorin has always been persuasive with crowds. And hell if he can't work his magic with this one, elaborating on the wealth and glory.

And in the morning, as they are to launch, and Kili makes to board the small vessel, Thorin utters what Kili has feared since the start.

"No. Not you." And as he's about to protest, the words scorching the tip of his tongue, Thorin continues, "We must travel with speed, and you will slow us down."

"I'm going there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers!"

"Stay here and rest. You'll join us when you've healed."

And he hears Fili protesting, but he knows it's no use.

"You belong with the company," Thorin says to Fili.

"No. I belong with my brother."


	7. Seven

She doesn't sleep that night. Just lies on her mat, staring upward, feeling slightly empty without the direct light of the stars.

And when the sun crests, she refuses to lay there another second.

She runs. Knows Legolas' sleeping patterns well enough that he won't wake for another quarter hour.

And the wind's in her hair, letting the auburn stands flow behind her.

The tears threaten her eyes, hot and sharp.

And she's inhaling jaggedly, the air piercing and uncomfortably stiff.

So she grits her teeth. Because she's strong. Stronger than these emotions ravaging her body. And slowly she calms.

When she opens her eyes, his blond hair is trembling in the breeze. And he's holding out his hand to her. "Thank you," she whispers, taking the bread he offers. Relishes the feeling of it on her tongue.

"We should keep moving," he says quietly, soothingly.

She stands, brushing away the grime. "Yes, we should." And for the next four hours she tries to avoid conversation, but she can tell he's dying to say something. "What is it?" And she can't stop the cracking of her voice.

Beat.

"Why are we doing this, Tauriel?"

And she knows what he's implying, but she hasn't admitted it to herself yet, let alone out loud.

To him.

Legolas, who might possibly love her with a love she can never return.

"Because it's right," she finally says.

"Damnit Tauriel! You know this isn't about war ravaging Middle Earth! No, no this is about that dwarf-"

"Legolas-"

"You love him, don't you?"

"Legolas don't-"

"I see it in your eyes!"

"Legolas, it's not that simple!"

He doesn't respond right away.

"How do you know he's worth it?"

"Because..." She's at a bit of a loss. "Because it feels right."

He doesn't answer her. Just shifts his pace so she falls behind him.

And when the night grows long, they break again. She refuses to meet his eyes. "Tauriel," he murmurs.

"Don't try to fix this. Not yet." And she's especially proud that she's managed to keep up her trademarked mask. Retreats to her tent.

And tastes the blood from biting her lip to keep her emotions in check.

And later, after sleeping and another day of trekking, they've reached the outskirts of Laketown.

And she can smell the pungent odor of orc. "They've been here," he says.

"I know," she replies.

"Kill them all."

"With pleasure."

She lets the sunlight caress her golden skin. And she hopes with everything she has that the raven-haired dwarf is safe.

They slip carefully along the skirts of the main streets. And it's not long before she hears some sort of a skirmish.

And she's jumping through an open window, Legolas not far behind her. And swiftly kills every single one of them.

A couple of human girls cower in the corner, but she pays them no mind.

Because he's lying there, eyes rolled back into his head, convulsing on the table.

And she feels something inside her break.


	8. Eight

His leg quakes in pain, spasming relentlessly until his trail of thought won't register anything else. Not the sheets beneath his fingertips or the bitterly humid air, trilling with the grime from the gushing river that invaded his senses only a day before.

After being thoroughly humiliated by his uncle, he felt oddly empty.

He wishes he didn't have to ruin that precious moment for his brother. Damn, his brother who deserves so much more than this fucking doomed situation.

The life is ebbing from his body.

Slow and sweet, like petals on the wind. And he attempts to catch them, to let their silky surfaces glide through his fingertips.

But he can't move.

Can't breathe.

Paralysis.

And he's fading too, into a fog that's so thick and heavy, it's a pressure on his skin.

And he's terrified, the panic making his heart gasp in jagged rhythms. He wants out, out of this hell inside his head, spinning him in circles, boiling in his blood, turning it to fire, violently fierce and irrevocably inescapable.

And then.

It's as though everything stills.

Except him.

No. He, he is falling, tumbling into creamy white fog that brushes against his skin like feathers.

And then he's lying on the ground, soft, earthy, the air smelling green like life. But faded, dreamlike.

The canopy above him sprawls lazily, like nets whose fish are sunlight trickling through the leaves and illuminates patches on the ground.

And then the light explodes, colors bursting and shooting skyward into a bottomless black night, becoming pinpricks on a dark canvas.

Like starlight.

And the ground beneath him is falling away again, or maybe, he's rising upward. Toward heaven.

And they surround him, spinning in circular orbits.

And beyond them, past the little lights in the blackness, he can imagine universes beyond where he is now. Tiny portals with more light than he could ever dream possible.

He sees her. In one these worlds, these alternate realities soaring above his head. She's elegant and beautiful, her footfalls striding in perfect rhythm with her flowing copper hair.

And even when he tries to extend his arm toward her, he falls short. Like his mind is playing a sick joke about his dwarfish height.

And then the portals are enclosing around him, like a geometric polygon. And he can watch all these separate scenes, separate universes unfold before his eyes. And he focuses in on one in which she's dancing. And laughing. And surrounded in starlight.

And he realizes that he's still holding on to that brief memory of her standing outside of that cell. That he still feels an irrational connection to her. A connection that pulls his hand forward, his fingertips brushing against the flat window where behind lies her face.

But, when his skin touches the glass, it shatters, millions of pieces, dancing in his hair and scraping against his skin, the beautiful image of her coppery hair only an aftertaste, a sour memory from something all too sweet.


	9. Nine

It terrifies her.

How fucking beautiful he is.

Even shaking uncontrollably, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, his skin translucent and sickly.

"On the table!" she shouts to the dwarves, desperately trying to regain her bearings, to clear her mind so she may have even the slightest hope of forming a rational thought.

The smaller girl brings her a pail of water, and she delves her hands in, scraping away the last of the orc blood.

Kili screams violently, but she's pretty he isn't lucid. And if he is, hell, she pities his soul. His shouts of agony fill her, fill everything, the room, the corners, even the way her hair whips across her face as they try to grapple with his thrashing figure.

"Hold him down," she says authoritatively, twisting his leg to uncover the oozing infection, dark blood and grimy pus shimmering in the candle light.

But damn, the smell could kill a herd of cattle.

And she has no time to dwell, no time to think, something for which she is incredibly grateful.

And she pauses as his face angles to look up at her, his eyes cloudy and unseeing.

She prepares the herbs in her hands, kneading the greenish mangle, murmuring elvish, and praying they're the right words. And and wasting not another second, she presses it to his wound.

He bellows in anguish, writhing beneath her impossibly steady hands. And keeps uttering the elvish, ignoring Fili's pleading look. Driving everything away but the magic flowing through her veins, through her soul.

And he's quieted a little.

And she turns her head to look at him, to make sure he's still there, still breathing.

And he's staring at her with such wonder, such awe, that she wonders what he could possibly see. And this pure, raw intensity, it makes her falter, a little.

And then his eyes fade shut, and she wonders if it will only ever be a dream to him. A figment of his imagination.

"Let him rest," she says after she pulls away, after it's over. "His body will still need to recover."

She stays by him, letting her mind clear itself.

She's insane. She had to be the one to go trekking through Mirkwood just to save him.

She stands, rummaging through her pack.

"Tauriel." Raspy and uncertain, but definitely there. Like a hazy breath.

She turns, smiles a little. Hell, she hates herself a little for that, for letting herself shine through. "Lie still."

"You can't be her," he whispers, voice rasping against his throat, raw from screaming. And she pauses, surprised. "She is far away... She... She is far, far away from here... She walks in starlight in another world... It was just a dream..." And she is searching for something to say, but he's reaching out, his fingers tangling intimately with hers, his rough calluses against her flawless skin. "Do you think," he says, his voice no more than a breath, a whisper, "she could have loved me?"


End file.
